


You're the Closest to Heaven That I'll Ever Be

by riots



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Character Turned Into a Ghost, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2431997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riots/pseuds/riots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Himchan's been looking forward to his date for ages, but somehow everything goes wrong and he ends up stuck with a ghost living on his couch. If only it would stop talking back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're the Closest to Heaven That I'll Ever Be

He should have known that something would go wrong as soon as they walked into the restaurant. As Himchan holds open the door for his date, a sudden chill hits him, though the fall air is still and almost warm. Frowning, he turns to look out at the street, but it's empty. With a shrug, he shakes it off. “Everything alright?” Jieun asks, watching him curiously. She tips her head, one long strand of her dark brown hair falling into her eyes.

Boldly, Himchan pushes it back into place. Her eyes widen and the corners of her mouth turn up, amused. “Everything's perfect,” Himchan declares. He straightens his jacket decisively and then, with a gentle nudge to her elbow, he steers her towards the host. As the woman leads them to their table, Himchan trips over his own feet. He stumbles, flushing, nearly knocking over the drinks on a nearby table. “Ah, excuse me,” he says immediately. At least Jieun covers her smile with the back of her hand. This is not a good start.

Things only get worse as the night progresses. He keeps missing his mouth, hitting his cheek and chin, like his chopsticks are completely out of his control. Feigning nonchalance as he wipes his face clean, inwardly, Himchan is cringing. He'd spent the better part of this week trying to convince Jieun to go out with him, being all suave with flowers and running to hold open the door for her. This is the best he can manage on the date? Fumbling with his food? Jesus.

“Your first time using chopsticks?” Jieun asks him, smiling sweetly. There's a playful twist to her lips and Himchan doesn't know whether to laugh or to groan. She hasn't fled yet. He takes that as a good sign.

“I swear,” Himchan sighs. “I'm not usually this much of an embarrassment.” He reaches for his water glass. It's just his luck that it slips out of his grip, tipping water into his bowl. Horrified, Himchan jumps to grab it, but his meal is already a write-off and Jieun flinches as she's splashed.

Across the table, Jieun grimaces a little, but does her best to cover it. “So I see,” she says politely, dabbing at her wet wrists. Himchan has no idea how he is going to face her at work tomorrow. This is a disaster.

When he rights his water glass, for a split second, he sees the broad stretch of a smile, devious and pleased. Himchan spins around, ready to snap, but there's no one there. When he turns around again, brow furrowed in confusion, Jieun is eyeing him warily.

She has to be about two minutes from getting an 'emergency' phone call, and he knows it. Himchan sighs and his shoulders drop. “I am _so_ sorry,” he says. A waiter flits by to refill his glass, and Himchan nods his thanks, even if he's not sure that's a good idea anyway. “I think I'm just nervous.” Yes, that must be it. Himchan's usually pretty good about hiding his anxiety on dates, but Jieun is very, very pretty. That's _got_ to be it.

“It's fine,” Jieun waves off his apology with a flick of her fingers and smiles encouragingly. “Relax! This is just dinner.”

With her smile, some of his embarrassment fades. “You're right – ” Another careless hand gesture and this time, Himchan ends up with a lapful of water. Just great. “Christ.” He exhales heavily.

Jieun carefully lays down her chopsticks. “It's alright,” she says, and her lips tighten. “Just go clean yourself up, I think we'll call this a night.”

He is _so_ not getting a second date. Ears red, Himchan stands. “I'll be back.”

In the bathroom, Himchan glares at himself in the mirror. Well done, Kim Himchan. Fumbling around like a teenager on his very first date. He can't believe himself. He does his best to dry his pants with the hand-drier but it's awkward and uncomfortable and it makes his junk kinda hot and man, this is one of the worst nights of his life.

When he heads back to the sink to wash his hands, he catches sight of a familiar smile. That same guy he saw before. He could've sworn he was alone in here, and the fact that that dude is hovering over his shoulder means that he probably watched Himchan trying to blow-dry his crotch, but right now, Himchan doesn't care. He's frustrated and annoyed and that wide, thousand watt stretch of smile is pushing all of his buttons.

“You,” he snaps. He points a finger at the guy's reflection. His eyebrows shoot up and the smile fades as Himchan glares at him. “Stop smirking. Are you fucking with me?”

The guy stares at him, open-mouthed, at a loss. “Wait,” he says. “You can see me?” He looks so taken aback, his hands closing convulsively against his thighs. “I. Whoa.”

This guy is giving him a massive headache. “Of course I can see you.” Himchan rolls his eyes. “What do you mean –” He spins to address the guy face to face but when he turns, there's no one there. The bathroom is completely empty, and he's standing there alone. Himchan's stomach drops, icy tendrils of fear creeping up his spine, and he swallows hard. “What the hell?” he mutters. Carefully, he looks back into the mirror.

The guy raises his hand and waves. “Hey,” he says tentatively, and then Himchan is stumbling backwards out of the bathroom, shoulder slamming into the doorway in his haste to get out. As the door swings shut behind him, he catches one last glance of an empty bathroom and his throat clenches.

Himchan is flustered and off balance as he comes back to the table, and when Jieun stands up, she lays a hand on his elbow. “I'm fine,” Himchan insists. Jieun doesn't dignify that with a reply, just raises her eyebrows at him and Himchan colours. He is so ready for tonight to be over.

Outside the restaurant, they linger on the street. It's dark, but Jieun doesn't look like she's inclined to get into Himchan's car. She won't even let him drive her home? This is officially the worst date he's ever been on. “Listen,” she says as she slides her purse onto her shoulder. “You're obviously having an off day.” Her smile is tight, but not unsympathetic. “Let's just call this a failed experiment.”

Himchan has never been so disappointed in himself. Dates are easy. He's _good_ at dates. Well, he's at least not this flat out awful, usually. He can't believe that he's so off his game. Is he rusty? And what was with the guy in the bathroom? Himchan drags a hand through his hair, messing it all up. He's officially done with tonight. A cab skates by and Himchan holds out a hand to flag it down. “I am so, so sorry,” he says again, earnestly. “This was definitely not how I pictured this.”

The cab slows down beside them and Jieun tips her head. She reaches up and gently pats his cheek. “It's okay, Himchannie,” she tells him. “This will make a funny story someday.” He opens the cab door for her. “When it stops being too embarrassing.” She climbs into the cab and waves at him. “Have a good night. Just remember, it probably can't get any worse.” She winks and the door slams shut.

Himchan puffs out his cheeks and watches the cab drive away. He supposes, at least, that could've been worse.

He sits down on the curb and stares out at the empty street. Not that he'd admit this to anyone, but he'd really been looking forward to tonight, and he'd made a total mess of things. There's not really any recovering from this. He drags the heel of his expensive shoes against the pavement and rests his chin in his hand. “Goddamnit,” he sighs.

There's the ghost of laughter from behind him. Himchan's head snaps around, but there's no one there. The street is empty. The memory of that smile slides behind his eyes and Himchan swallows hard. He didn't have anything to drink at dinner. It's like he's losing his mind.

He climbs to his feet, ready to head to his car, but he still feels that itch between his shoulders, like someone's eyes are on him. It's only a block to where he parked but he can't help the odd, suspicious way he eyes everyone he passes and the hunch of his shoulders. Tonight has been the weirdest night and he's so ready for it to be over.

As he looks into the rearview mirror to pull out, he catches the glimpse of blond eyebrows and amused eyes and he nearly backs into a streetlight. He slams on the brakes and turns around in his seat so fast he nearly cracks something, but there's no one there. “I need sleep,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I seriously need some sleep.”

 

 

-

 

 

It takes Himchan three days to notice that something is up.

The end of the year is approaching, which means the office is in overdrive. Everyone's working round the clock to get everything wrapped up and dealt with, and Himchan's no exception. Banking isn't glamourous, but it makes his parents proud and it pays the bills (and pays them well). He's lucky that Jieun is sweet and keeps the story of their date to herself, because dealing with the fallout and office gossip when he's juggling seven projects is the last thing he wants.

When he gets home after a long day of work, he doesn't even bother to change out of his suit, he just flops face-down onto the couch and sighs heavily into the cushion. He just has to make it through the next two weeks. It's also finals week for Youngjae, and the two of them have made a pact to go out and get wasted when they're all done with everything.

Himchan twists to look at the TV and rubs at his eyes. He doesn't understand how Youngjae does the whole med school thing, but Youngjae's always been sharp, stable, and determined in a way that Himchan kind of wishes he was. For example, right now Youngjae is probably cramming until his eyes bleed, and Himchan gets to watch drama reruns. He sticks his arm out and feels around on the coffee table for the remote control. His hand only encounters a couple of library books and the dinner plate from last night.

Frowning, Himchan straightens. One of the bonuses of living alone is that everything is always where you leave it, and he always leaves the remote on the table. He finds it, finally, placed neatly on the TV stand, and when he picks it up, he just stares at it for a second, unsettled. Tired. He must just be tired. Working too much, forgetting where he put things. It wouldn't be the first time.

The feeling in his stomach settles after a few lazy hours of watching TV, but it starts up again when he wanders into the kitchen to make something to eat. Last night, he'd been too tired to tackle the dishes from dinner, so he'd just left them, strewn around the kitchen. He had no one to answer to, after all. But now, they're all stacked up in the sink.

Himchan's mouth opens and closes a few times, and he swallows. “Jesus Christ,” he says under his breath. His stomach shifts uncomfortably. He's never been so tired that he sleep-tidied before. Maybe he should ask his boss for a couple days off after this week. He was messing up dates, doing some wacky shit at home, it seemed like he could really use it right now.

His appetite gone, Himchan busies himself with cleaning the dishes, fighting off the yawns that kept threatening to overtake him. Early night tonight, he figures. He heads back into the living room, intending to grab a book and then maybe just read for an hour or two and then pass out, when he passes the mirror in the hall.

He glances into it, out of habit, notices the dark circles under his eyes and grimaces. Then he notices the back of someone else's head, a shock of bleached blond hair, and he lets out a yelp. He stumbles backwards, his heel catching on the floor and when he falls, he only barely manages to get his arms under himself. Himchan lands hard on his back and lays there, stunned.

Now-familiar laughter floats into the room. “Are you always this clumsy?” There's no one there. There's no one there, the room is empty, but Himchan hears a voice. Low and quiet, but unmistakeably there. There's a pretty serious possibility that Himchan is losing his mind. Maybe he needs a career change.

“No,” Himchan snaps, rattled. “You're just my good luck charm.” He pushes himself up on his hands and looks around, warily. He supposes that he could be making small-talk with a burglar, but he's pretty sure that most house-invaders don't just tidy things up a bit.

“Here.” Himchan flinches. The voice is closer now, almost at his ear, and he has to physically prevent himself from shrieking when he feels fingers close around his wrist. He is _definitely_ losing his mind. He can't see anyone, but he can feel the gentle pressure of a firm grip as he's helped to his feet. “Sorry, dude.”

Once standing, Himchan doesn't move a muscle. He laughs weakly, eyes wide as he scans the room. He can even hear him move now, the rustle of fabric against fabric. This is so surreal. “Sorry?” he echoes. “I. You're invisible? You're in my apartment, and you're invisible.” His voice shakes. This is insane.

“Sorry,” the voice says again, and the grip is withdrawn immediately. Himchan rubs his fingers across his wrist. If he was tired before, he's sure awake now. His eyes are stretched so wide they hurt, but try as he might, he's not missing anything. Whatever this guy is, Himchan can't see a thing. “You're just...no one else can hear me. Or see me.”

There's something disconcerting about carrying on a conversation with thin air. “I can't see you either,” Himchan grumbles. At his sides, his fingers curl into the fabric of his work slacks.

“Sure you can.” Hands again, this time at his shoulders, and he reluctantly allows himself to be steered over to the mirror on the wall. The face that peers over his shoulder is becoming increasingly familiar. The stretch of his wide mouth, the blond hair that spills into his eyes. “See?”

Himchan frowns, shrugging out from underneath the well kept hands still on his shoulders. “Who are you?” he asks, wrapping his arms around his middle. “And how about, _what_ are you?” Eyes glued to the mirror, Himchan cautiously reaches out to brush fingertips against the guy's arm. When he looks back, his hand touches nothing but air, but he can clearly feel the fabric of an ugly shirt against his skin. “Whoa.”

“I don't really know,” the guy admits. He stands patiently and lets Himchan run his fingers down his arm. Himchan realizes what he's doing and pulls his hand back, clearing his throat. “I don't remember very much. I'm not even really sure how I got here.” He offers Himchan a flash of a smile, genuine and hesitant. “I'm Bang Yongguk.” In the mirror, Himchan sees him stick out his hand to shake.

It takes some coordination, but Himchan manages to find his hand and grip it. “Kim Himchan,” he replies, with a quick inclination of his head. He rubs at his eyes and then squints at Yongguk's reflection. “You followed me home?” he asks, a bit shrill. “I never asked for a pet ghost.”

“I'm not a pet,” Yongguk says dryly, but Himchan can see the irritation in the way the corner of his mouth turns down. He feels a little bit gratified. “Look,” Yongguk says, wrapping a hand around his elbow. “I've kinda been wandering around for a while. It got a little...” He shrugs. “I don't know what you're complaining about anyway. I cleaned up your kitchen for you.”

“I don't _know_ you,” Himchan snaps. “Also you're dead, and you're rearranging my stuff.” There's no heat behind it, though. Himchan knows that he should probably be more freaked out than he is, but he's exhausted and worn out from staring at numbers all day, and it's hard for him to muster up terror at a ghost like, well, Yongguk. His broad shoulders are hunched forward, his eyes soft and wary, and it pulls a little at Himchan's heart. At the back of his head, a small, very tired and paranoid voice points out that if there were bad ghosts, they'd totally lie and pretend to be sad and lonely. Himchan chooses to ignore it.

Yongguk shrugs, mouth twisting. “I got bored,” he says. “Not my fault you're a mess.”

“Listen, dead boy,” Himchan says, pointing a finger at Yongguk's reflection. He feels a tiny bite of regret when Yongguk flinches. “You are a guest in my house. You will not get all snotty about my cleaning skills.” He sticks out his bottom lip. “I was tired.” His voice is more plaintive than he'd like.

“A guest?” Yongguk raises his eyebrows. Himchan pushes his chin out as the corner of Yongguk's mouth slowly, hopefully turns up. He has a nice smile. “You're gonna let the stray ghost stay a while?”

“It's not like dead guys eat a lot,” he says. There's that flinch again. Himchan's teeth dig into the inside of his mouth, and he's immediately sorry. He'd be a little sensitive too if he was, y'know. Deceased.

“Yeah.” Yongguk's grin is a little forced.

Himchan uses the mirror to coordinate and punch Yongguk in the arm. He misjudges the distance and hits him harder than he meant to, and Yongguk grimaces. It's too familiar a gesture. Himchan doesn't care. “But you have to earn your keep. Wash some dishes.” The mix of irritation and amusement in Yongguk's eyes is so strange. Himchan supposes, though, it's not even the strangest part of his night. “I'm serious,” he says.

Yongguk is quiet for the longest time, and if Himchan wasn't staring at his reflection, he would have thought he'd disappeared. “Thanks,” he says finally. “I didn't think –”

“It's fine,” Himchan waves a hand uncomfortably, finally dragging his eyes away from the mirror. “Look,” he continues. He's not used to addressing an empty room that can actually talk back. “I'm going to make myself something to eat, and then I'm going to go to bed, because I spent all day counting things and there's about a fifty/fifty chance that I'm hallucinating this conversation.”

Yongguk's laughter is warm. “Alright.” He hesitates. “Mind if I watch some TV?”

Himchan nods, waves his hand vaguely in the general direction of where he last saw Yongguk. It must have been a while since he could watch TV without peering over someone else's shoulder. He wonders if Yongguk's a channel surfer. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Himchan exhales. He's getting distracted. He is way too tired. “Knock yourself out. Keep it down.” He shakes his head. “I haven't had a roommate since college.”

He's treated to the absolutely surreal sight of his remote control floating into the air and the TV turning itself on. “At least I won't be bringing any company home.”

“Yeah, great,” Himchan grumbles. As he makes his way into his kitchen, Himchan scratches at the back of his head and yawns. He has no idea what the hell just happened. Maybe if he goes to sleep, this will all go away. He doesn't mind someone else doing the cleaning, though. “Ghosts,” he says under his breath. “Jesus Christ.”

 

 

-

 

 

Mornings are the worst. This morning is one of the worst, too. Himchan buries his face in his pillow and groans when his first alarm goes off. He slaps futilely at his phone when the second one blares in his ear. It takes the third one, labelled _no seriously you asshole get out of bed before you get yourself fired_ , before Himchan manages to drag himself up, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. Sometimes he really, truly hates being a responsible adult.

When he stumbles his way to the kitchen to make coffee, he skirts the couch and bumps his knees on something. He stares down blearily, confused. He could've sworn he cleared the arm of the couch.

“Ouch,” the couch grumbles at him, low and raspy, and Himchan's knees give out and he ends up on the floor, fast.

“Oh,” he says, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, his stomach clenching. Last night hits him in a rush. “That happened?”

“It did,” Yongguk's voice confirms. Himchan looks at the couch out of the corner of his eye, but as expected, there's nothing there. Not even the impression of where Yongguk sits. He swallows.

“I was kind of hoping for it to be some kind of weird dream,” Himchan admits weakly. He knows he has to get ready for work like _now_ , or he'll be late, but he's having trouble getting too concerned about that, because there is a _ghost_ on his _couch_. And why is he the only one who can hear him?

Yongguk hums and Himchan's head jerks towards the sound of his voice, almost without thinking. “I was wondering when you'd freak out,” Yongguk says. He's trying to sound casual, but Himchan can hear the unhappy edge to his voice. Despite himself, despite everything, Himchan feels a little guilty for that.

“There's a ghost on my couch,” Himchan says, like it's an explanation.

There's a long stretch of quiet, and Himchan listens to the hum of his fridge and his own breathing. Yongguk doesn't make a sound. “Are you okay?” Yongguk asks hesitantly. His voice is abruptly closer. “I mean, I could leave.”

Himchan looks up instinctively. It's so hard to carry on a conversation with someone you can't see. “This is so weird,” he says, more to himself than anything, eyes falling back to the floor.. He needs coffee, and he needs it now.

“If I go,” Yongguk says. “You can forget about all this. No more ghost on your couch. No more dishes rearranging themselves.” The resignation in his tone sinks through Himchan's daze.

“How. How long has it been since you talked to someone else?” Himchan asks slowly.

Yongguk's voice shifts away. “A while.” Himchan turns again to look in his general direction, one eyebrow raised very deliberately. “Months,” Yongguk amends.

Sounds lonely. In Himchan's room, his phone trills. The intern, Jongup, texting him a last ditch alarm to make sure he's awake. He's a good kid. “You're not fucking with me, right?” Himchan digs his fingers into his ribs. “Like I'm not gonna wake up and find out that I accidentally sold my soul or something?”

“Promise.” There's warmth and firmness to Yongguk's tone, and Himchan startles when he feels fingertips press against his shoulder. They trail down his arm to his hand, and then Yongguk's pinky curls around his. “You can keep your soul.”

Himchan wonders if he's making a mistake, but his phone is going off again, and he really needs to get the coffee brewing. He squeezes Yongguk's pinky in return. “Thanks,” he says. Yongguk lets go, and Himchan climbs to his feet. “Ah, shit,” Himchan sighs. “I'm going to be so late.”

“I can make coffee?” Yongguk offers. “I think.” Himchan can see the faint outline of Yongguk's frame in the black screen of his TV. He's watching Himchan. “I can try, anyway. Earn my keep.”

Himchan melts, a little bit. Yongguk sounds so hesitant, like he's terrified Himchan is going to shy away like a frightened horse. “Would you?”

“Yeah, I can handle that. Go get ready for work.” Himchan watches him stand and head into the kitchen and his text alert sounds for the third time. Jongup must be panicking. As Yongguk passes the mirror in the hall, Himchan calls out to him. He pauses, and Himchan can only see the back of his head now, but it's still better than nothing.

“Thanks,” Himchan says again, and Yongguk's reflection shows him a sliver of his smile.

“No, man,” Yongguk shakes his head, and then he's back on his way to the kitchen. “Thank you.”

There's a clatter in the kitchen as Yongguk sets about making the coffee and Himchan still lingers, looking down at his hand and remembering the feel of Yongguk's skin on his.

 

 

-

 

 

When he gets home that night, the dishes are actually washed. Himchan is impressed, if a bit guilty. He wasn't _actually_ serious. He runs his thumb thoughtfully across the rim of a clean plate. “Up to your standards?”

Yongguk's voice is right by his ear. Himchan yelps, and glares at the space where he assumes Yongguk is standing. “It'll do,” he sniffs. He tosses his bag on his kitchen table. “Anyway, congratulations!”

One of his chairs drags out and Himchan shies away. Jesus, that is unnerving. “What?” Yongguk asks.

Himchan spreads his arms wide. “You're not dead,” he declares. He beams.

There's a long silence, and for a brief second, Himchan entertains the idea that his announcement has been the clarification that Yongguk needed to get peace or something, and he's gone to a better place. No such luck. “I'm not dead,” Yongguk repeats slowly.

“Nope,” Himchan agrees. He gives the empty chair a wide berth, pointedly not looking at it. “I spent my lunch hour going through obituaries for the last year. That's a lot of dead dudes. No Bang Yongguks, though.”

The chair leans back, and Himchan hears Yongguk exhale. “Huh,” he says. Himchan wishes he could see his face. He'd like to know what he's thinking. “So. What...does that mean?”

“It means,” Himchan says. “That I am a very dedicated detective.” He loosens his tie. “Okay, I roped the intern into helping.” A sweet kid, Jonguppie. Not a very good intern, though. Mostly good at getting coffee and not asking questions.

In front of him, on the table, Himchan's stainless steel kettle slides forward until it's in front of him, polished side reflecting both his face and Yongguk's. He feels a sense of relief at being able to see who he's talking to.

Yongguk doesn't look so good. His broad mouth is pulled tight in a thin line, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Not what I meant,” he says.

Himchan holds up a hand. “Yeah, I know.” He tips his head, opening a few buttons on his shirt before leaning forward on one hand. “It means you're not dead.” He can see Yongguk's frown already starting to happen, and he rolls his eyes. “It's a good thing,” he insists. “Dead is permanent, right?”

He likes the way Yongguk's smile dawns on his face, slow and steady and bright. “Unless you're a zombie,” Yongguk says.

“Or a vampire,” Himchan laughs. He squints at Yongguk's reflection. “You're not thirsting for blood, right?”

Yongguk shakes his head. “Or brains.” The flash of smile he directs at Himchan is so wide, Himchan catches a glimpse of his gums. “But give it time.”

They're quiet for a second. Himchan has always prided himself on his ability to roll with the punches. He might complain (a lot, and loudly), but there's not a whole lot he can't handle. In his estimation, anyway. But this, this is something else. He's sitting in his kitchen with a ghost that no one else can see or hear. Of course, if Himchan's logical, he'd be wondering why, precisely, only he can Yongguk. Maybe he really is losing his mind from the stress. Or maybe Yongguk's not a ghost, he's something worse.

That one is hard to believe, though. Yongguk cleans up after himself and keeps the TV low so Himchan can sleep. He's careful around Himchan, and considerate of the fact that talking to an invisible dude is way unnerving. And that smile, man. That is not an evil smile. He knows it.

“Just what _do_ you remember, anyway?” Himchan asks curiously. He pushes his bangs out of his eyes and meets Yongguk's gaze in his reflection.

“Not much,” Yongguk sighs. His chair lands back on all four legs with a clatter. “I've been trying all day to figure it out, but it's all kind of a blur?” He shakes his head. “My sense of time is a mess, man. I don't even know how long I've been like...this. Not for sure. It was spring then, and now it's fall. That's about it.”

“And now I've got my very own friendly ghost.” Yongguk throws him a disparaging look, but Himchan just smirks. “You'll figure it out, I bet. You're a smart dude. Even if you can't make coffee for shit.”

The punch to his shoulder is unexpected and knocks him sideways. Himchan rubs his bicep. He's sure it'll bruise. He eyes the empty chair next to him balefully. “Do I count as a ghost if I'm not dead?”

“Guess not,” Himchan says. He wrinkles up his nose. “That's no fun.”

Himchan feels Yongguk press fingers against his elbow. “Hey,” he says. “Thanks. For going through the records.”

“No problem, man.” Himchan pats his hand quickly and ducks his head. His ears feel hot. “You didn't look like you liked the whole dead thing. I figured it was the least I could do, to maybe put you at peace.” He flushes. “Or whatever.”

He glances up, and in the shine of the steel kettle, Yongguk is watching him thoughtfully. “Not yet,” Yongguk says, shrugging a shoulder.

“We'll figure it out,” Himchan says. He almost surprises himself with how firm his voice is. He definitely surprises Yongguk, though. His eyes are wide and his smile looks like it caught him off guard.

“Detective Kim Himchan is on the case,” Yongguk says.

Himchan straightens imaginary lapels and sticks out his chest. “Damn straight.”

When Yongguk laughs, heat creeps into Himchan's chest. He clears his throat and climbs to his feet, fleeing to his bedroom to change out of his work clothes. That was unexpected. He doesn't know how to handle the way that Yongguk's smile seems to resonate in his chest. He unbuttons his shirt all the way down to his belly and stares at himself in the mirror. “Why does he have to be such a _nice_ ghost?” he mutters. He scratches fingertips against his scalp and sighs.

 

 

-

 

 

Himchan flinches as a paperclip bounces off his nose and drops into his coffee with a soft plink. He looks down into his mug a bit mournfully before glaring at the empty chair next to his desk. “Quit it,” he hisses.

In the gleam of his polished desk, he can see Yongguk grin at him. “Is this seriously what you do all day?” he asks. “This is so _boring_.” Himchan is suddenly incredibly happy that he has an isolated corner cubicle, because paperclips are flying through the air. More than a few head his way, and he's certain it isn't accidental. “I didn't have you pegged for some number-crunching monkey.”

“I'm trying to work here,” Himchan hisses. He pastes on a smile as Jieun passes, wiggling her fingers in a quick wave. “This was a terrible idea.” He recovers a few of the paperclips and flicks them towards Yongguk's chair in rapid succession. Some of them miss, but he's rewarded with a tiny 'ow' when one hits its target. “I can't take you anywhere.”

“I thought this was going to be more interesting than sitting on your couch and watching reruns.” Himchan is never going to get any work done at this rate. So far Yongguk has spent a good twenty minutes interfering with his typing, turned the monitor off twice, and he keeps throwing those damn paperclips.

Himchan closes his eyes for a second and sighs heavily. “If I start looking through newspaper stories for your name again, will you quit assaulting me with my own office supplies?” His voice is barely a mutter. At least he might as well be productive in a different way.

There's a scraping sound as Yongguk drags his chair closer. His bare forearm brushes up against Himchan's, and he does his best not to flinch. “Much more entertaining,” Yongguk laughs.

Himchan switches over to a browser and tries not to be too overly aware of Yongguk's arm against his. “You,” he says. “Are far too used to the whole friendly poltergeist act.”

As he passes by, pushing the mail cart, Jongup blinks at him. “Did you say something, hyung?” he asks, sleepy smile on his face.

“No, just...talking to myself.” Yongguk snorts and Himchan flushes, waving Jongup off. “Don't worry about it.”

Jongup shrugs it off and rolls on by. Bless his heart. “I think I hate you,” Himchan tells Yongguk conversationally as they start poring over news articles about near-fatal accidents.

He can hear Yongguk shift next to him, and he freezes when he feels him settle an arm around the back of Himchan's chair. “That's okay,” Yongguk agrees amiably. “You're so easy to tease, you know that?” Himchan doesn't answer. He keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the screen in front of them, though he's not really reading very much. “Hey. I see a Bang.” Yongguk takes possession of the mouse and starts scrolling, reading through himself.

It's not him. They comb through news stories from last spring for well over an hour before finally, Yongguk's breath catches. “Oh,” he says, and his voice is so small, Himchan wishes he could see his face.

He turns to read the article on the screen. “'Bang Yongguk, twenty four',” he reads aloud, his voice barely audible. “'In a coma after suffering severe head trauma in a near-fatal head-on collision. The other driver did not survive'.” Yongguk makes a low, wordless noise, and Himchan's hand drops to find Yongguk's leg. He curls his fingers around Yongguk's knee. It's so hard to know what to do when he can't see Yongguk's expression. “No,” he says. “It's okay, it wasn't your fault. Look, it says he was drunk.” Yongguk just hums. “'Once stabilized, Bang was moved to a small, private hospital at the request of his family'. Well, fuck.” Dead end.

Yongguk's hand brushes against the top of Himchan's, fingers tracing across his knuckles, but he doesn't push Himchan away. “This is so weird,” he says quietly, after a pause that was long enough to be worrisome.

Himchan smiles a little, nudges him with an elbow. “You've been walking around like a ghost for months and _now_ you're getting that?” he asks.

“I'm here,” Yongguk says slowly. “But I guess I'm over there?”

“Your soul decided to head out for a wander?” Himchan suggests. Yongguk doesn't laugh. “Okay,” he says. “It's weird. It's really weird.” He squeezes Yongguk's leg. “But think about it. We found you. We _found_ you.”

Finally, Yongguk laughs shakily. “Yeah. Okay.” He exhales in a burst. “I didn't – I never thought I'd actually figure out what happened. Jesus.” Himchan can't take not being able to see Yongguk's expression so he flicks off his computer and tips it so it catches Yongguk's reflection. He looks a little shell-shocked, eyebrows raised and mouth half-open.

“I am an excellent detective,” Himchan tells him.

“That must be it,” Yongguk agrees. He shifts the hand he has around Himchan's shoulders to his neck and digs his thumb into the muscle, hard.

His timing is impeccable. Himchan fights to keep from flinching, gritting his teeth, as Hyosung passes by, arms full of folders. “Rough day?” she asks. She looks amused. She totally heard him talking to Yongguk. Great, just what he needed.

“I think I might cut out at lunch,” Himchan admits. “Getting a headache.” He punctuates the end of his sentence by squeezing Yongguk's knee just under the kneecap, where the nerves are. Yongguk jerks out from underneath his hand, gasping and cursing. “I'll take some of this home with me so we don't get behind.”

Hyosung leans on the cubicle wall, looking at him hard. “Are you okay?” she asks gently. “You've been kind of all over the map lately. Jieun told me about how your date went.”

“Oh,” Yongguk says next to him. “Oops.”

“Or didn't, rather,” Himchan says. Hyosung winces sympathetically. “I'm fine,” he assures her. Her concern is a little unexpected, but touching. “I guess I'm just a little distracted right now.” To say the least. Yongguk's thumb is now idly brushing against the back of his neck. Himchan swallows. “I'll be fine.”

Hyosung looks a bit skeptical, but she shrugs. “Alright,” she says. “You know you can always talk to me, right?”

Her offer is sweet, but he's not certain that his story would go over well. His ghost isn't even a real ghost, either. “Thanks, noona,” he smiles up at her. She waves as she heads back to her desk.

“Sorry about that, by the way.” Yongguk's voice has shifted, his hand sliding off Himchan's shoulders. “I was a bit of a dick, huh?”

“I knew you were fucking with me,” Himchan hisses. He glares at Yongguk's reflection. “You completely ruined my night!”

“We used to date, me and Jieun,” Yongguk continues, mostly ignoring Himchan's sputtering and rage. “And you looked like a douchebag. No offense.”

“Offense taken,” Himchan tells him. “Offense definitely taken.”

Yongguk tips his head, and Himchan feels his fingertips dig into his ribs. “But it's okay, right? 'Cause even if your date sucked, I met you.”

Himchan feels his irritation melting at that. Damnit. “You seem pretty sure that you're a treat,” he says sullenly.

“Aren't I?” Himchan has to get out of work before someone catches him trying to throttle thin air.

He gathers up some paperwork and throws it in his briefcase, running his hand through his hair. Collecting a stray ghost is far more work than he'd thought it would be. He waves goodbye to Jongup, and he can tell that Yongguk is right on his heels, feel the pressure of his hand on the small of Himchan's back as he trails him out of the building. “Sorry,” Yongguk says when they're in Himchan's car. “I know it's not – ”

“Oh, shut up,” Himchan tells him. “I just wanted to get you away from your supply of paperclips before you started in on round two.” There's wariness in Yongguk's eyes in Himchan's rearview mirror, and Himchan smiles at him, lips tight. “Seriously,” he says. “It's fine.”

It's not, not quite. He'd really been looking forward to that date with Jieun, and Yongguk had messed it up on a whim. And now Himchan was stuck with the ghost of a guy that wasn't even quite dead, who drove him up the wall, and then turned that stupid _smile_ on him and made him melt. This week had as many twists and turns as a damn rollercoaster.

“If you say so.” Himchan catches sight of a quick, crooked grin in the mirror as Yongguk presses his fingers into his knee, just for a second. Himchan tightens his fingers on the steering wheel and bites the inside of his mouth. Yongguk and his touchy feely ghost hands are going to drive him around the bend.

 

 

-

 

 

“You know,” Himchan says, settling down on the grass with his lunch and the briefcase he'll probably ignore. “My boss is not going to keep letting this slide.” He carefully unpacks his food and pulls out his chopsticks. “I keep cutting out early. It's a good thing I have a lot of sick days saved up.” He's mostly complaining just to complain. It's cool out, but the sun is warm and Himchan's tie hangs from his neck, undone. If he's honest, even if he feels guilty for leaving work when things are still so hectic, it's nice to have a break from it all.

He only figures out where Yongguk is sitting when he speaks up. Himchan shifts until he's facing roughly the right direction. “I'm sorry,” Yongguk says. “I just – ”

“No,” Himchan sighs, waving his hand a bit. “Whatever, it's fine.” Things have been strained between the two of them since the last time Yongguk had come with him to work, and Himchan has been debating whether or not he even _wants_ to fix it. He never asked for all this, for a ghost that followed him home, ruined his dates, made terrible coffee, and flicked stationery at him when he was just trying to do his job.

But Yongguk has been quiet for days, to the point where sometimes Himchan wondered if he was even still there. He'd tidied Himchan's apartment when he was too tired to, and coming home to an apartment where dinner was already being made was, well, a little bit alarming. He wasn't a bad cook, though, though the food was a little bland. Yongguk couldn't taste to test it. He was _trying_ and that was so weird. It was Yongguk who'd suggested they hang out a little, ease the tension, and Himchan had wanted to say no. The problem was, Yongguk has somehow managed to make himself comfortable in a soft spot in Himchan's heart and that no became a yes, and now Himchan is eating lunch in a public park and talking to thin air. His life has gotten very strange, very fast.

“So,” Yongguk says after a long pause. “How is it?”

Himchan nods in appreciation, swallowing down his first bite. “Not bad,” he says. “If we never find your body, you should totally start up your own 'rent-a-ghost-housewife' business.” When Yongguk doesn't answer, Himchan sighs, and pops another mouthful between his teeth. “I'm joking, man.”

Yongguk doesn't even dignify it with a laugh. Himchan probably deserved that. “Yeah, I know.” Himchan raises his eyebrows at him. “I am sorry, you know,” Yongguk says. “I got a little stir crazy, and you looked like a dick.” Himchan narrows his eyes. “Alright, not an excuse.”

“Nope,” Himchan agrees.

“Did you really like her that much?”

Himchan flushes. “You make me sound like a lovesick teenager,” he complains. “I never had a chance to make that date go right.”

“You're totally pouting.” Yongguk's restrained laughter has the combined effect of making Himchan bristle and smile, and he hates himself a little. “I don't think I need to do any work to make you sound like a teenager.”

Grimacing around his chopsticks, Himchan elbows out blindly. He misses, and Yongguk snorts. “You're not really helping anything,” Himchan grumbles, annoyance creeping up the back of his neck. It feels increasingly silly, and Himchan wonders if he can casually escape a guy who's invisible.

“Sorry,” Yongguk says again.

Himchan's getting a little sick of hearing apologies now. He hums in response, doesn't say anything. When he goes to take a bite next, his chopsticks suddenly swerve away from his mouth. His eyes narrow at the spot where he hopes Yongguk's head is and he scowls. “Now you're taking my food away from me?”

He can feel Yongguk tug them forward, watches his food hover a few inches in front of his nose. “Open up,” he says. “The airplane is coming in for a landing.”

The only reason that his mouth drops open is his disbelief. Really. “Really?” he asks, but there's a laugh bubbling up his throat.

His chopsticks wobble in front of him, and he tries to pull them free. His attempts are in vain. Yongguk is not giving up control. Switching tactics, Himchan lunges forward, trying to grab the food, but Yongguk is too quick and the chopsticks skate away. Himchan makes a face. “C'mon, man, the airplane. You don't want it to crash, do you?”

“Don't be a dick,” Himchan protests, the corners of his mouth pulling up irrepressibly.

“Open up,” Yongguk says stubbornly and Himchan shoulders drop and he sighs.

“I am being force-fed by a ghost,” Himchan grumbles, but he opens his mouth. Yongguk steers Himchan's chopsticks back to his lips, and finally gives him back control of his own lunch. “You suck,” Himchan says while he chews.

Yongguk chuckles, and Himchan can hear him shift to sit closer. “You're just so easy,” he says. Himchan is pretty sure that's a terrible explanation. He takes a chance and swings, and he's rewarded when his hand glances off Yongguk's knee. “Ow, Jesus. You're violent too.”

Himchan deftly pops the last bit of his lunch in his mouth and smirks. “You deserved it.” He tidies away his lunch and then carefully smooths his jacket down. “How did you know about this park, anyway?” Folding his hands behind his head, Himchan flops backwards. “Lunch dates with Jieun?” It's a reasonable conclusion, but somehow the thought still sends a jolt of something sharp and hot through Himchan's belly.

“Yeah, we came here a few times,” Yongguk says. Himchan closes his eyes. It's easier to deal with not seeing Yongguk when he's in control of it. “I thought it would be cute, I guess?” He snorts. “Kind of lame, in terms of dates.”

“Definitely,” Himchan agrees. “You can't even buy her lunch? Pretty cheap, man.”

Fingers dig into Himchan's side. “Okay, no, she liked it. Shut up.”

Himchan squirms, slaps Yongguk's hands away. “Wait, you were the music producer guy, weren't you?” He remembers Jieun mentioning him, a long while back. He remembers her smile and the way that Sunhwa had gripped her hands and laughed.

“Yeah,” Yongguk says, surprised. “That was me.”

“'Married to the job',” Himchan says thoughtfully. Their breakup wasn't messy, Jieun was far too composed to carry that to work. He knew it couldn't be easy though. She was quiet and subdued for a long time. “Too bad. She liked you.”

He can hear the rush of air as Yongguk exhales. “She said that? Damn.”

“Yep.” Himchan grins. “Good thing you messed up. And then turned into a ghost. You totally paved the way for me.” He shifts his shoulders against the ground, eyes sliding open. “She upgraded.”

It's a good thing no one else can hear him, because Yongguk's laughter is loud and unrestrained, and Himchan is pretty sure people are already eyeing him for talking to himself. “Upgraded, huh?” Yongguk says, amused.

Himchan rubs at his eyes, staring up at the clouds. He'd rather not dignify that with an answer. “Talking to you gives me a headache. I never know where you are.”

“Okay, sorry.” Himchan jerks, startled, when something heavy lands on his stomach. “Is this better?” Yongguk's voice is a whole lot closer now, and Himchan can feel his words vibrate against his belly. It's Yongguk's head.

“Super,” Himchan drawls, and he slaps a hand down across Yongguk's face, laughing. Yongguk yelps, paws his hand away. “I still don't get why I'm the only one who can touch you.”

Yongguk lifts his head up and then drops down heavily against Himchan's belly. It knocks some of the air out of Himchan's lungs. “Me neither,” he says. “It's weird. I can definitely move things, but I have to focus on it. Then there's you.” Fingertips tickle under his chin and Himchan gasps and flinches.

“Get off,” he grumbles.

“Sorry,” Yongguk says. He's definitely not. Himchan frowns. “It's kinda nice, though.”

Himchan's complaints die in his throat and he sighs. “For you, I guess,” he says, but there's no heat to it. He pointedly does not let himself think before he lets one of his arms fall across Yongguk's chest. He's not all that warm, and Himchan can't feel a heartbeat, but it's still kind of comfortable this way. “I'm the one dealing with like, Yongguk the benign poltergeist.”

“You think I'm benign?” Yongguk asks, and Himchan can hear his grin. He digs his fingertips into Yongguk's ribs. “I'm flattered.”

“You make a good lunch,” Himchan says. “It kind of evens things out.” His eyes close again.

Yongguk laughs. “I'm so glad that I meet your approval.” Himchan would laugh it off, but there's an edge of sincerity to Yongguk's words. Himchan swallows, and there's heat creeping up his throat. If it weren't for him, Yongguk would just keep wandering around, alone. Himchan has no idea what he'd do in his place, if he had no one to talk to. He'd like to pretend that it doesn't matter to him, but Himchan has the core of a marshmallow, and a lonely almost-ghost pulls at his heart.

“Lucky you,” Himchan says. He can feel Yongguk turn to look at him, cheek pressed against his stomach, and the way his mouth turns up in a broad grin.

“Right?” he agrees. Himchan blinks up at the clouds, half-smile pulling at his lips, and he's kind of all out of words.

 

 

-

 

 

“To the end of the week from hell,” Youngjae says, brandishes his glass. The dark circles under his eyes are visible to Himchan even in the dim lighting of the bar. He laughs and the instant that his glass meets the rim of Youngjae's, Youngjae is already yanking it away to pour it down my throat. “Fuck med school,” Youngjae sighs.

Himchan pats his head. “You're the one with the big brain,” he says. “It would be such a shame if you quit now and let it go to waste.” Youngjae turns to glare at him out of the side of his eye and Himchan just smiles sweetly at him.

“I feel like my brain has been put into a blender,” Youngjae moans. His beer is already almost done. Himchan is a tiny bit impressed. Laying his head down on the table, Youngjae wrinkles up his nose. “I'm done, I'm tapping out. Go on without me.”

Himchan lifts his drink to his mouth. “Drama queen,” he says with distaste. “You're in your final year. Why would you quit now?” Youngjae only straightens up long enough to drain the last of his beer and pointedly ignore Himchan. “Besides, I need you to do me a favour.”

Pointing a finger at Himchan, Youngjae gets to his feet. “I am going to get another drink,” he says. “And then when I get back, you are going to remember the fact that _you_ are the one that owes _me_.” He walks backwards half of the way to the bar, still pointing at Himchan.

Himchan isn't concerned. He toys with his glass until Youngjae gets back, and gives him a second to sit down, before just going for it. “I need you to find someone,” he says.

Youngjae is already shaking his head. “No,” he says firmly. “Nope. Not happening.”

“But Youngjae,” Himchan pleads. He pushes out his bottom lip and his eyebrows climb up. “This is really important.”

Waving a hand dismissively, Youngjae shakes his head. “That's what you say every time,” he points out. “Like, literally every time. It's always vital to your survival.” He takes a sip of his beer and rolls his eyes. “And _I'm_ the drama queen.”

Well. This is going nowhere. And it's actually important this time. He thinks, for a second, about Yongguk. Since he'd showed up, they'd spent pretty much every night together, and it's a little bit weird not having around, whispering in his ear, digging fingers into his sides. Himchan looks up at the mirror behind the bar, half-expecting to see his smirk. He's not sure why that's unsettling.

“Youngjae,” Himchan says. He carefully sets down his glass. This one is important, he needs to convince him. “I need you to find someone.”

Youngjae raises his eyebrows and tips his head. He regards Himchan curiously. “What is so important about this?” he asks.

“He's just a friend,” Himchan says dismissively. It's a tough balance, trying to get Youngjae to realize that it's important to him, but keep him from getting curious. He avoids Youngjae's eyes. “But I need to find him.”

He can feel Youngjae's eyes on him. It makes him shift uncomfortably. “Uh huh,” Youngjae says, suspicious. “And just who am I looking for?”

Himchan clears his throat. “He was moved to a private hospital. I was hoping you could find out which one.”

“You want me to dig through medical records?” Youngjae's laugh is high and startled. “I can't believe you.”

Taking another swig, Himchan changes tactics. “It'll be easy, alright? His name is Bang Yongguk. He's my age.” His tone is wheedling, and he swings his arm companionably around Youngjae's shoulders. “Just sneak in, take a peek, in and out in a few minutes. Easy peasy.” He squeezes Youngjae and smiles at him.

Making a face, Youngjae wedges his hands between them and shoves Himchan away. “'Easy peasy',” he echoes. “Medical records are confidential, hyung. You want me to risk my entire medical career for...some guy? Some guy, I might add, I have never heard you mention before tonight.” He shrugs. “It's all very suspicious to me.”

Himchan scoffs. “He's a friend,” he insists again, doing his best to ignore the way a flush is creeping up his collar. “He was in an accident, and I've been a terrible person and not going to see him, and I want to make up for that.” He pouts a little again. “Help me, Obi Wan Youngjae. You're my only hope.”

Himchan lets out an embarrassing squeak when Youngjae slaps a hand across his mouth. “Don't put that puppy face on,” Youngjae says sternly. “This is serious stuff. I have put in too much time and effort in my schooling to get it all taken away because you had a tiff with some guy.”

He could just pull Youngjae's hand away, but instead he decides to stick his tongue out and lick across his palm. Youngjae jerks his hand away, looking horrified. “I know, I know,” Himchan says. “This. I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important.” He looks down at his glass, swirls the beer around a little, watches the bubbles rise.

“Huh.” Youngjae twists to peer in Himchan's face. “So this is _seriously_ serious.”

Irritated, Himchan's mouth pulls to a tight line. “It's always serious,” he grumbles. Honestly, it's like none of his friends give him any credit.

Youngjae laughs, rolling his eyes. “Alright,” he says after a second. Himchan's eyes flick up and he's starting to smile. “I guess, if it's that important. But I make no promises.”

“Really?” Himchan breaks into a grin, and pulls into Youngjae into a fierce, one-armed hug. He's careful though, he's got a beer in his other hand and he'd rather not spill it. “Oh, I knew I was friends with you for a reason.”

Grimacing, Youngjae tolerates it for exactly ten seconds before he pushes Himchan away. “Thanks,” he says dryly. “I value our friendship too.”

Himchan beams at him. He knew Youngjae would come through. He can't wait to tell Yongguk.

 

 

-

 

 

“This is weird,” Himchan says out of the side of his mouth, smiling cheerfully at the kid behind the cash. He's got a young face and a mop of cotton candy pink hair, and he's ungodly tall. “This is really, really weird.”

Yongguk doesn't seem to be listening. “It's not that weird,” he dismisses. “It's not weird if you're not weird. Don't be weird.” His fingers tighten around Himchan's wrist. “Don't you think he looks tired?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

The kid's nametag reads Junhong. “Hello,” he says cheerfully. “What can I get for you today?” Yongguk is right, though. There are lines around his eyes, they make him look worn down, despite his sweet, customer service ready smile.

“Iced americano, please.” The kid nods and rings him up. Himchan has to shake Yongguk's hand off to pay, and it makes him nervous.

“I wish –” Yongguk doesn't finish his thought, but Himchan can probably guess what he's thinking. He feels Yongguk's arm brush up against his, and he has to stop himself from turning instinctively towards him.

As Junhong the barista carefully marks his drink, Himchan speaks up. “Having a good day?” he asks. It's inane small-talk, means nothing, and Junhong looks surprised, but the smile he turns on Himchan is less forced than it was before.

“Nice and busy,” he replies politely. He passes the cup to the guy behind the bar and then turns to the next customer.

Yongguk sighs. “His hair is pink,” he says. “He always talked about doing that. I never thought he'd actually do it.”

Raising a hand, Himchan pretends to scratch his nose to cover his mouth. “He looks okay,” he tells Yongguk, his words barely audible. “He's surviving.”

“I'm glad.”

The guy behind the bar calls Himchan's name and he smiles and nods in appreciation. He's older than Junhong, with eyes that disappear when he smiles and lush, full lips. He maybe looks harried, but his hands are steady, and he made Himchan's drink with ease. “I figured Daehyun would be okay.” Yongguk's voice is low in Himchan's ear. “He's a tough kid.” He sounds so weird, tense and unhappy and relieved all at once.

Himchan takes his drink from Daehyun and thanks him sincerely, and then he and Yongguk are out the door again. The afternoon sun is bright on Himchan's shoulders, and while he doesn't have a destination in mind right now, he decides to find a few back streets for them to wander down. No one to overhear. He can't feel or hear Yongguk right now, and he wonders if he's in shock. Hopefully, he'll keep up. “Okay?” Himchan asks through his teeth. The last couple of weeks have meant he's gotten very good at his ventriloquism skills.

“It's been so long.” Yongguk sounds dazed. “I was worried.”

“Well, fear not.” Himchan lifts his straw to his mouth and takes a sip. “Why didn't you check in on them before?” He passes by a couple of teenagers who eye him sideways, and he flashes them what he hopes is a disarming smile. “Junhong, he's your little brother, right? I would've found him first thing.”

“I was scared,” Yongguk says. Himchan's breath catches a little and his eyes slide to the place where Yongguk would be, if he could see him. For just a second, he almost thinks he can see the outline of Yongguk's profile, but not quite. “I thought – I guess I thought that if I was dead, dead for real, that seeing them would make it too hard.” Himchan is silent, and the cold of his drink seeps through the plastic to his fingers. “I mean, I wanted to be sure they were okay, but...”

“They are okay,” Himchan assures him. “Maybe working a little hard, but they look fine.”

When Yongguk laughs, it's rough and wry. “That was what else I was worried about.” Himchan pauses at that, confused. He makes a questioning noise when he takes another sip of his coffee. “What if they're okay? What if they're perfectly fine, now that I'm not around?”

Himchan's chest clenches and he wishes, yet again, that he could see Yongguk's face. “That's heavy,” he says, his voice gentle.

“I thought I was dead,” Yongguk replies. That's fair.

The ice in Himchan's drink clicks noisily against the plastic of his cup. They walk in silence for a few minutes. “Are you alright?” Himchan asks hesitantly. He'd thought that today would be good for Yongguk, make him happy. He hadn't expected this.

“I'll be better when I'm not half a ghost,” Yongguk tells him.

“But then you won't be able to sneak around and mess with people's dates.” Himchan raises his eyebrows, a hopeful half-smile on his lips, and he feels a rush of relief when Yongguk presses his fingers to the inside of his elbow. “And we both know how much you enjoy that.”

“Only yours,” Yongguk retorts. It's weak, but it still sounds better than that doom and gloom stuff.

Himchan's smile goes full-watt. “So I'm special?” he preens.

“Yeah,” Yongguk drawls. “You're special, alright.”

Himchan chooses to take that at face value and move on. “You know Youngjae's gonna find you, right?” he says around his straw. “He's almost smarter than I am. It pays to know people in the right places.” He makes sure there's no one around before he elbows Yongguk, not gently.

“You make it sound like you're in the mob,” Yongguk tells him. It might be wishful thinking, but Himchan thinks he's smiling. He likes that.

“How do you know I'm not?” Himchan stretches his chin up and throws back his shoulders.

The effect is ruined when Yongguk laughs. “You?”

Shoulders dropping, Himchan scowls. “You can stop laughing now.” He tries to put some bite into his voice, but he's pretty sure he misses his mark and ends up about as menacing as a puppy.

“I'm not laughing, I'm shaking in my boots,” Yongguk tells him, his voice fond. “Terrified of mobster Kim Himchan.” Himchan grumbles to himself, and starts when he feels Yongguk's fingertips skate down the inside of his arm. “Thanks,” Yongguk says.

Himchan nods, feeling his ears turn red. He drains the last of his coffee to cover his discomfort. “Just trying to help,” he says. He feels Yongguk's thumb press briefly against his pulse and tells himself that his heart doesn't speed up at the touch. It doesn't.

 

 

-

 

 

He's getting better at this.

The television drones on, some seriously terrible action movie (Yongguk's pick), but Himchan ignores it. He digs his fingers into the bowl of popcorn and he waits. When Yongguk laughs loudly at one of the lame jokes on the TV, Himchan quickly grabs a kernel of popcorn, takes aim, and fires.

It's still incredibly disconcerting to see popcorn bounce off thin air, but it's also incredibly satisfying. “Jesus, Himchan,” Yongguk's voice is a growl of irritation, and Himchan beams. Right on target.

“Just a little retaliation,” he says. He's sprawled across his couch, head resting against the arm and his feet in Yongguk's lap. He'd insisted that it was because he'd worked all day and he was tired, he deserved to put his feet up. It probably had more to do with the way Yongguk kneads his fingers idly into Himchan's calves. “I figured you were due.” When Yongguk snorts, he fires off another piece of popcorn. He's really getting good at this.

Fingers pinch the soft spot behind his knee and Himchan yelps. “Man, shut up, I'm trying to watch the movie.”

“But it's so _bad_ ,” Himchan groans. He flops back, arm hanging off the couch, corners of his mouth twisted down dramatically. “Dead guys have the worst taste.” The movie is pretty terrible, and it's not something Himchan would sit through on his own, but he really doesn't mind spending his nights like this. Yongguk's hands, his laughter, it leeches away his exhaustion from the day. It's kind of nice. Not that he'd say that out loud.

“Not dead,” Yongguk corrects, almost as an afterthought. There's something pivotal happening onscreen and Himchan assumes he's distracted. Hard to tell when he can't see which way Yongguk is facing. “Besides,” Yongguk continues, and Himchan raises his eye at the sly edge to his voice. “I'm not the one wearing pants with flowers on them.”

Himchan can feel Yongguk tug on the knee of his pajama pants. He flushes. “They're comfortable,” he snaps, and he raises his foot to kick at Yongguk's middle. He's rewarded when his sock-covered toes dig into Yongguk's belly. “I don't have to impress a ghost boy.”

“Someone's defensive,” Yongguk grunts. Himchan feels Yongguk's slim fingers wrap tightly around his ankles, holding them captive. Oh, this isn't fair.

Himchan struggles (half-heartedly, admittedly) but he's caught fast. “There is nothing wrong with flowers,” he insists. “Don't be jealous because I'm secure enough in my manhood to wear flowers.”

Yongguk's laughter is cut off when Himchan hears the click of the door latch. “Hyung?” Youngjae calls. From where he's lying on his couch, Himchan can see Youngjae toe off his shoes, pulling off his scarf and coat. He'd forgotten Youngjae had the code to his door and an incredibly unfortunate propensity for barging in without knocking.

“Shit,” Himchan hisses. Yongguk's hands are gone in a flash, and Himchan pulls his legs up to his chest. God knows he doesn't want Youngjae to see his feet floating in midair while he converses with no one. He struggles to straighten himself, nearly upending the bowl of popcorn all over the floor. He's really got to work on his subtlety, he thinks.

“I'm not interrupting something am I?” Youngjae pauses in the doorway, looking around. “Oh. I could have – who were you talking to, hyung?” He eyes Himchan warily.

“Myself,” Himchan says breezily. By his ear, he hears Yongguk's laughter, low and rumbly. “I'm losing my mind.” He pats the couch next to him. “Come watch this terrible movie with me.”

It's probably a sign of their long years of friendship that this only causes Youngjae to raise his eyebrows before shrugging it off. He throws himself down on the couch, not bothering to wait for Himchan to offer before helping himself to the popcorn. “It's not that bad,” Yongguk protests, sounding a bit put out. “It's enjoyable.”

Himchan scoffs and Youngjae raises his eyebrows at him questioningly. “Nothing,” Himchan says, and waves a hand. “What brings you barging in to my apartment at this late hour?”

“I just thought you'd like to know that I found him,” Youngjae says casually. It takes a few seconds for Youngjae's words to sink in, and while Himchan blinks at him, Youngjae steals the remote control and changes the channel. “What are you even watching? This movie looks terrible.”

“Normal people text,” Himchan points out. He hits his knuckles against Youngjae's knee. “Or knock before they enter someone else's house. Or ask before they take their food.” His nonchalance covers the way excitement bubbles in his stomach, and flutters against his nerves. That's not helped when Yongguk's hand comes to rest on the back of his neck and he makes a noise of disbelief.

Youngjae looks unconcerned as he eats a handful of popcorn. “You weren't answering your phone again,” he points out. “He's in this little private hospital outside of Seoul. I have the directions, if you want.”

“Holy shit,” Yongguk says. He sounds elated.

“I want,” Himchan says. “I want very much.” He speaks too quickly and Youngjae laughs at him.

“You're eager to make up for lost time,” Youngjae says. “I thought he was just a friend?” He takes one last handful of popcorn before shoving the bowl back at Himchan.

Yongguk's hand on Himchan's neck is heavy, and his fingers tighten infinitesimally. “I don't like what you're implying,” Himchan says. “He's in a coma, you dick.”

Youngjae ignores Himchan's frown. He's a terrible friend, Himchan decides. He needs new friends that aren't mouthy, awful med students who think they know everything. “Gonna wake him up with true love's kiss?” Years of practice give him the forethought to duck Himchan's swing and slip off the couch, grinning. “I gotta go, hyung. I have work placement tomorrow morning and I just wanted to make sure I told you tonight. I sent the directions to your phone.” He wiggles his fingers in goodbye. “We're still on for drinks next week, right?”

Himchan frowns at him. “Yes,” he says sullenly, hugging the bowl of popcorn to his chest. “I'm bringing my intern, Jongup, if that's okay.”

“Sure,” Youngjae agrees easily. Himchan watches him lace up his shoes again and grab his coat and scarf. “Later, hyung. Good luck at the hospital.” He's got that stupid smarmy grin on his face and Himchan is certain that if he weren't so far away, he would definitely hit him. And not miss this time.

“Holy shit,” Yongguk says again as the door closes behind Youngjae. “Holy shit.”

Himchan slides the bowl of popcorn onto the coffee table. “We'll go first thing tomorrow,” he promises. “Lucky for you, I haven't exhausted my boss' patience with all the sick days yet.” Yongguk's hand pulls away as he stands up, and Himchan tries not to feel the loss. “I can't wait to have my apartment to myself again.” It takes a few seconds after he speaks to realize that he's lying, to himself and to Yongguk. His stomach sinks.

“Tomorrow.” Yongguk's voice is so quiet that Himchan can barely hear him. Maybe he's in shock. “This will all be over tomorrow.”

 _This will all be over_. Himchan busies himself tidying up the fallen kernels of popcorn to stop himself from flinching. He has to fight off the urge to ask Yongguk if it was all bad. “Your nightmare will end,” he agrees, and he carries the bowl of popcorn to the kitchen.

As he empties the popcorn into the garbage, Himchan desperately tries to stop the flush of excitement from souring into something that feels a lot like dread. This is a good thing, he reminds himself firmly. Now Yongguk won't be wandering, lost. His life has been on pause for months and now he can go back to living. This is a good thing. He throws the bowl down on the counter with a clatter and turns to the fridge.

But Himchan's mind keeps creeping back to the same thoughts, of an empty apartment, no coffee waiting for him in the morning. No more laughter in his ear, just for him. No more of that smile - “Dumbass,” Himchan mutters to himself. His forehead thunks against the cool metal of the fridge and he feels it keenly, already, the loss of his unwelcome house-guest. He's going to miss Yongguk. He's going to _miss_ him, miss him a _lot_. Himchan's stomach clenches and he closes his eyes and he lets reality seep in, little by little. He thinks about Yongguk's hands on his wrist and his throat works. “What kind of asshole falls for a ghost?” He's so dumb.

“Not dead,” Yongguk reminds him. Himchan lets out a little shriek and flinches up straight, arms jerking out. His knuckles ricochet off the fridge. Pain lances through his hand and he spins, clutching his arm to his chest. He can feel himself colouring, red creeping up his cheeks, and he feels exposed, unbalanced. If he could just _see_ Yongguk, for once.

He considers denying what Yongguk heard, taking it all back, but chances are, captain invisible saw the whole thing. “Isn't that the whole problem?” he says. He can't tell what Yongguk's thinking, so he fixes his eyes on the floor. The tiles are looking kind of grubby. He really should clean them.

“Are you going to miss me?” Yongguk's voice is gentle, and Himchan hates him a little for that. He's the one who's basically a soul, wandering around while his body wastes away in a coma, and _he's_ being nice to _Himchan_.

“No,” Himchan says stubbornly. He flexes his injured hand, feels the faint echo of pain arc across his knuckles. That's going to bruise. “I can't wait until I can watch decent TV again. And maybe now I'll get shit done at work.” He doesn't mean to sound so bitter. He really doesn't. He's trying to ignore the ache setting up camp in his ribcage. It's not working all that well.

He takes an involuntary step back when he feels hands settle on his biceps, and his shoulders hit the fridge. He doesn't look up. “Himchan?” It's the uncertainty in Yongguk's voice that makes Himchan's eyes flick up, but he still can't _see_ him. He clenches his teeth. “What if I don't remember anything that happens?” Himchan closes his eyes. He knows what Yongguk means. _What if I don't remember you?_

“Isn't that better?” Himchan says. “You don't have to remember how it felt. Being alone.” Why would Yongguk want to remember thinking he was dead and being too afraid to see the people he loves? It doesn't make any sense.

“Shut up,” Yongguk says, his voice ragged. “I wasn't always alone.”

“Just mostly.” His breath catches in his throat when Yongguk's hands slide up his arms to cup his face. “What – ?” he asks weakly.

Yongguk's thumbs brush across his cheekbones and Himchan swallows hard. “Don't,” Yongguk says. There's a hoarse edge to his words. “Why do you always do that? I heard you, before.”

“So?” Himchan asks, defiant.

The press of Yongguk's mouth catches him off-guard and Himchan sags, his knees weakening. His arms come up to grasp feverishly at Yongguk's waist but he keeps his eyes shut tightly. He doesn't want anything to distract him from the wide, lush shape of Yongguk's lips or heat that pools in his belly as he drags Yongguk forward until they're pressed flush together. “So, _this_ ,” Yongguk murmurs, still close enough that his lips brush Himchan's when he speaks. “Maybe I'll miss you too.”

“Damnit,” Himchan sighs. He clenches his fingers tight in Yongguk's shirt and tips his head forward until it's resting against Yongguk's. He's out of breath, his heart racing, and he can't help but close the distance between them again and kiss Yongguk.

It's weird, because Yongguk has never been that warm and he must not have a need to breathe, but his kiss still leaves Himchan with his head spinning, emotions warring in him. “I won't forget you,” Yongguk says, and Himchan has to fight back the surge of affection and dread that rises in his throat. “I won't.”

“Don't make promises you can't keep,” Himchan scolds him. Yongguk only laughs humourlessly, but he doesn't let go and Himchan is so grateful. They stay like that for long enough that Himchan memorizes the feel of Yongguk's hips with his hands, and the shape of his mouth with his lips.

A pall has been cast over the rest of the night, and neither of them try to fight it. They don't speak much, and Himchan misses it, but he can't bring himself to fill the silence. His stomach feels hollow.

He heads to bed early. When he finishes brushing his teeth, he examines the tightness in his eyes and presses his fingers to his lips. “Jesus,” he sighs, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Want some company?” In the mirror, Yongguk looks hesitant. He doesn't smile until Himchan does, and even then it's only a shadow of what he's capable of, and Himchan reaches for his hand.

“Sure,” he says, even though he knows it'll make tomorrow harder. He doesn't care.

Despite how tired he is, it takes forever for Himchan to fall asleep. His chest aches and he dreads tomorrow so badly he can feel it in his teeth. When he finally does sleep, he's curled tightly around Yongguk, lips pressed to the back of his neck, and his last thought is faint hope that tomorrow doesn't mean an ending.

 

 

-

 

 

“Ready?” Himchan speaks through his teeth, tight smile pasted on. He's cold, and he can't tell if it's the sterile hospital air or the anxiety that crawls up his spine. He's just glad that the receptionist at the counter had let him charm her into getting access to Yongguk's room. It probably won't happen again, so Himchan's just praying that he won't need it again.

Yongguk's hand grips his so tightly it makes his bruised knuckles ache. “I guess,” Yongguk breathes, and Himchan pushes open the door. They walk in.

The room is nice. It's not like the hospital rooms that Himchan's been to, it could almost be a hotel room of some kind. Well, if it weren't for the machines by the bed. Even the noise they make is subdued, as if out of respect for the person laying there under neatly folded sheets.

“Whoa,” Yongguk says, and Himchan hums in agreement. The body in the bed, tubes up his nose and down his throat, Himchan supposes there is a similarity to the guy he's seen in flashes in mirrors. The same messy hair, although it's not blond, it's dark, grown out, trimmed. The same wide lips, but his face is so, so pale. The hands, lacking Yongguk's manicured fingernails, lay limp against the sheet. Something about seeing him like this makes Himchan take a step back, frowning.

Yongguk, though, he takes a step forward. His grip on Himchan's hand doesn't lessen and he tugs Himchan's hand forward. “Yongguk?” Himchan says.

“It's – it's weird.” Yongguk's voice sounds strained, weird. It doesn't help calm the buzz of anxiety in Himchan's head. “I can feel this pull – ”

Already. Himchan's stomach clenches. After squeezing Yongguk's fingers once, he lets his grip on his hand drop. “Go,” he tells Yongguk. “Don't fight it.”

For a second, just a second, he could swear he could see Yongguk standing in front of him. His image is blurry and indistinct and before Himchan can figure it out, Yongguk's hand is on his shirt front and he's pulling him in for a kiss.

Himchan would give anything to be able to ignore the desperation in the way Yongguk presses his mouth to his, or the finality of it. That doesn't stop him from kissing back, hard enough to bruise, until he needs to pull away to breathe. “I won't forget,” Yongguk says. He presses another quick kiss to Himchan's forehead before he's gone again.

Heat prickles at the back of Himchan's eyes, and his hands tighten into fists at his sides until the nails dig into his palms and his knuckles burn. “Go,” he says firmly.

“I won't.” Yongguk's voice is steady and firm and Himchan wishes he could believe him. He can only tell that Yongguk has reached the bed when the sheets rustle. “See you later.” There is a tiny spark, a flash of light just above Yongguk's face, and then Himchan knows he's gone. He's back where he should be. The room feels achingly empty.

Himchan waits. He settles down in a chair beside the bed and he sits and he listens to the steady beep of the machines and the whoosh of the respirator and he waits. Time stretches, and he has no idea how long he's even been sitting there until he realizes that the sky outside the window has darkened. A nurse comes in and gently informs him that visiting hours are over. She pauses when she gets a good look at his face. “Are you close?” she asks carefully as she straightens Yongguk's sheets. Yongguk doesn't stir.

“Not anymore,” Himchan tells her. His smile is crooked and tight but she thankfully lets him escape.

He leaves the hospital almost at a run, and the drive home is long and dark. He looks at the bruises on his knuckles. It was too much to hope for. He should have known. The loss burns in his stomach and his bones and he only gets a few miles away before he has to pull over. Crying would be easy, but he doesn't. Himchan just clings to the steering wheel and tries to remember how to breathe.

 

 

-

 

 

It takes so long for Himchan to find his footing again.

Work is rough. He misses too much work, calling in sick just to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. That lasts for a couple of weeks, until his boss calls him into his office and tears into him. Himchan gets back to his perfect attendance, and he does his best to get back into the swing of things.

His work has always been, if not easy, then not hard, either. Numbers and their patterns come easily to Himchan, and he's always found his work goes quickly. These days, he catches himself staring at his screen for hours at a time, until Jongup comes to his rescue with a hot mug of coffee. When he looks at Himchan, there is concern in his eyes. Himchan waves him away, but when Jongup starts leaving him sweets with encouraging post-its stuck to them, Himchan knows it must be bad.

Hyosung and the girls sweep him out for lunch at least once a week. He does his best to engage in the conversation, and it is fun. They're all so friendly and Jieun doesn't hold anything against him. He likes the way they tease him, insist he have that glass of wine, refuse to let him weasel out of their lunch dates. Himchan isn't certain it's helping much, but when Hyosung squeezes his hand and smiles at him, he knows it's something.

If there's anything he refuses to do, it's think about a couple of weeks in the fall or a certain smile. Sometimes, he's not even sure it happened, and then his eyes catch on the paperclips on his desk and his stomach drops. He needs to get over this, he decides. Whatever that was, whatever they had, it's done. He needs to put those feelings away and get one with things.

And maybe he's managing it. One day in spring, he comes back from one of their lunches feeling motivated, and he slides behind his desk and buries himself in work. For the first time in a long time, he's catching up on lost ground, finishing things on time, and well, he's pleased with himself. It feels good.

It's close to closing when he hears a bit of a commotion up near the front of the office. Some of his coworkers have already gone home, and he doesn't pay it much notice. He's nearly done with this project and if he focuses, he can get it all done today and not even get out of work late.

It's hard to ignore, though. He hears voices, quiet, but clearly audible, approaching his end of the office. “Hyung, you can't just barge into an office,” someone hisses. “You shouldn't even be up and about right now. The doctor said you should be resting.”

“Why are we here?” someone else asks. “If you have to figure out your like, accounts and stuff, can't we come back when you're feeling better?”

Annoyed, Himchan clears his throat. He drinks the cold dredges of his last coffee of the day and looks up as the owners of the voices arrive at his cubicle. He's ready to snap at them, but instead, his voice dies in his throat and his mouth drops open.

The Yongguk that stands in front of him isn't the one he imagined. He's pale and thin, steadied on either side by a baffled looking Junhong and Daehyun. His dark hair hasn't been cut in ages, and his clothes hang off his shoulders. Himchan is certain that if it weren't for the two kids, he wouldn't be standing properly. Is he even allowed out of bed? He looks sick. “Hi,” Yongguk says, and Himchan laughs despite himself. He sounds just the same. “Long time no see.”

“Hyung?” Junhong asks quietly. He pulls on Yongguk's arm. “Who is he?”

Himchan ignores him. “Hi,” he says, a bit dazed. He feels almost like something in his chest is thawing, ice cracking and melting until he jolts into motion and stands. “You look like shit,” he tells Yongguk.

Daehyun looks back and forth between the two of them and his eyes narrow. “I look pretty damn spry for someone who just woke up from a ten month long coma,” Yongguk replies. He watches Himchan for a second, eyes wide, before he shakes off Junhong and Daehyun and takes a wobbly step forward.

The two of them protest and reach for him, but Himchan is already there, his arms coming up to wrap around Yongguk, steady and firm. He's _warm_ , present and real in a way that makes Himchan's heartbeat race. “You kept your promise,” he says. “What a good guy.”

“Hyung?” Junhong sounds completely baffled.

This time, when Yongguk kisses him, Himchan can see it coming, sees the smile on his lips and the way his eyes crinkle. It's brief (there are people watching, after all) but sweet, and when he pulls away, Himchan traces Yongguk's mouth with a finger. He grins. “Welcome back,” he says. Behind Yongguk, he can see Daehyun raise an eyebrow. He flushes.

“Good to be back,” Yongguk says. Even as he turns, he leans heavily on Himchan, one arm wrapped tightly around his waist for balance. “Hey,” he says casually. “Did you guys ever meet Himchan? Old friend.”

“You're older,” Himchan retorts. Yongguk grins at him, and Himchan's breath catches in his throat at that. No mirrors needed for this. No reflections. No nothing. This is just for him. He doesn't care about the curious eyes of his coworkers or Yongguk's baffled brother and friend. He smiles back and tugs Yongguk's head forward until their foreheads press together. “Took you long enough,” he says. His voice is pitched low so only Yongguk can hear.

“It was worth it, wasn't it?” Yongguk says. His fingers tighten on Himchan's hip and all Himchan can think about is beginnings. 


End file.
